Becoming a Dragon Page 10

  "That will change one day, Pan. Then people like Eric will become essential."

  "Yes, I've seen you two train. A real aptitude for the sport, hasn't he?"

  Perak winced at the word sport, considering it anything but. "Not really. He has dedication and discipline. Do you know he's never once asked why we do this? He just does." Indeed, he saw Eric as the perfect soldier, demonstrating complete unquestioning obedience combined with intelligence and resourcefulness, qualities that rarely went together. He would ensure that Eric was promoted as soon as possible to a Squadron Commander, once he himself had been promoted.

  "Well, I wouldn't mind you teaching me one day, once you're allowed more students. But for the moment, your training will have to wait. They want you up in headquarters. I've been sent to fetch you."

  "Really? What for?" Perak asked. He was surprised that anyone even knew that he was back.

  Pan shrugged. "They didn't tell me. Like Eric, I just obey."

  Pan was right there; he was an obedient fellow. Sadly though, he didn't have Eric's brains, and even the level of Squadron Leader was possibly a promotion above his ability.

  "Very well. Another time, Eric. Dismissed!"

  He followed Pan towards the headquarters, which was located in the centre of the camp, too near to bother with flying.

  "Perak!" A loud voice roared. "Just the man I was looking for."

  It was Kessick. Perak's shoulders slumped. He had hoped he had avoided this.

  "Kessick," he said with a nod. "Always a pleasure. Can't stop though, I need to file my report."

  "That's where you're wrong," Kessick told him with an unpleasant grin. "Summoned by the General. We both have been. I've just been told to fetch you on my way. Can't imagine what they want to see you for."

  "Probably to commend him on his successful mission," Pan chirped up.

  Kessick turned to Pan and regarded him disdainfully. "Oh, um, Kettle, is it? How are you?"

  "Pan," Perak corrected.

  "Yes, Pan, I knew it was something to do with cooking. I doubt they're even aware of Perak's mission. I mean, do even the Reds know he was there?" He roared with laughter at this. "Eh? What was it this time, a single house you attacked, or were there two?"

  Perak waited for him to stop laughing before replying. "Well, I do prefer it if the enemy doesn't know what hit them. I train my men to operate unobserved, strike the enemy without them seeing it coming. I doubt you've ever managed to anything unobserved have you, Kessick?"

  "Why would I? When everything you do is outstanding, you want it seen. Isn't that right, Kettle?"

  "Shouldn't you be heading off to see the General now?" Pan asked coldly.

  "Yes, yes. No sense of humour, your friend. Come along, Perak. They probably want you to witness my promotion."

  "Or maybe your execution for inability to bring any troops back. I wonder if they will take volunteers."

  "I doubt it, Perak. I had a standing ovation at dinner after my last mission, and received another commendation. My troops love me, and that's why I get the most volunteers. I doubt your average new recruit even knows your name."

  "You get the most volunteers because you need the most. They push them in your direction to replace all the ones you routinely lead to their doom."

  "To glory! They know the risks, and those that come back return as heroes. How many of your men return as heroes?"

  "My men return. Up to today I'd had five missions without a loss. My men know I value their lives enough to not throw them away."

  "Ah, so you lost one today, did you? Attacking what? A small logging settlement? At least my men die attempting greatness."

  "So you did know what my mission was. A little better known than you made out," Perak commented smugly.

  "These men who you love and value. Tell me, what was the name of the one you lost? If it's not too much to say his name. I'm guessing that you're pretty upset about it."

  Perak's eyes narrowed. He had no interest in the names of any of his men, or anything about them and Kessick knew it, but he wasn't going to be lectured by a man who threw away valuable resources as casually as Kessick did.

  "Look, Kessick, why don't you give the names of the ones you brought back on your last mission, if you love them so much? That shouldn't be too long a list."

  "Speaking of what we brought back, how are your trophies from your last mission? You seemed to have taken a lot longer than was expected. Didn't stop on the way back for a little entertainment, did you?"

  Perak reddened with anger. "I would never do such a thing!"

  "Come now, Perak. Surely you don't expect me to believe that? After all, their very purpose is to breed with the elite of the army, to produce the next generation of expendables. You clearly believe you're a cut above the rest. You really weren't even tempted?"

  Perak was furious. "Unlike some, I respect how things should be done. That is a privilege reserved for Wing Commanders and above!"

  "Kessick, Perak!" It was their Wing Commander, Jaresh. He was ten years their senior, and had little time for Perak, presumably irritated by his youth, rapid ascent through the ranks and his unconventional methods. Inexplicably he seemed to get on with Kessick though, who was the same age as Perak. "I see you've finally managed to turn up. The General has been waiting. Follow me."

  Jaresh led them both to the only permanent building in the camp, a grand old house that served as General Pushak's quarters and his office. It looked out of place surrounded by the sea of dirty brown tents. They followed him through the house to the General's office where he left them to wait for the General. They had to wait for a while, as another meeting was in progress. After two division commanders left the room, the two of them were sent in and were surprised to see that it was General Zygar, not General Pushak in the office. They didn't dare ask where Pushak was.

  "Ah, Perak and Kessick; come in," he said, waving them over. "I hear you had another successful mission, Perak. Six captives, wasn't it? One loss and ten killed?"

  Perak was taken by surprise. "Yes, sir, but I haven't filed my report yet. How did you …"

  "I don't wait for reports!" Zygar replied dismissively. "Those get filed and sent away. I demand immediate updates on all missions. Reports!"

  Perak nodded in agreement, not sure what to add.

  "So, that makes fifteen of these missions now, Perak. All as successful as you promised. I'm glad I put my faith in you. Don't get me wrong, though. I don't like you, and I don't like this approach. Seems wrong somehow. I prefer a good open fight."

  "Couldn't agree more, sir," Kessick commented, sneering at Perak.

  "I don't remember asking for your opinion, Kessick. If I want opinions, I'll go to Perak. At least his brain still works. No, I don't like you either, Kessick. Always making far too much noise. Which is why it pains me to have to promote you both. It makes too much sense not to. I don't like your approach Perak, but I do like what it achieves. I think we've seen enough of your experiment to take it to the next stage. I trust you know what's expected of you."

  "Yes, sir," Perak replied enthusiastically.

  "Hmm, that remains to be seen. I'll assign you to a different division under Devrik. He's fully briefed on what I'm looking for, and of your capabilities. He'll give you guidance, but enough of a free rein to allow you to do what you're good at. Using your brain. Which is the opposite of what you're good at, Kessick."

  Perak failed to hide a smirk.

  "Not sure what you're so happy about, Perak. Kessick has the skills you are completely devoid of. Charm, charisma, leadership and likability. Well that's what the idiots we recruit think. I think my lunch probably had more charm than he did when it was rolling around in the mud back at the farm eating his own excrement. But these idiots will follow him eagerly to their deaths. That's why you're being promoted, Kessick. You'll do what's asked, and you'll lead. You'll leave the thinking to me, but flying bravely to death or glory, that's what we have you for. You'll stay where you are of
course. Wing Commander Jaresh is retiring, so you'll be taking his place and reporting to Moric."

  "I had no idea he was retiring, sir," Kessick said in surprise.

  The General smiled cruelly. "Neither does he, but he will be finding out very soon. Not sure what persuaded anyone to promote him in the first place. He will be off to do some bureaucratic job more suited to his abilities. This is no time to have substandard commanders. Don't let me down, or you will be following him. Dismissed."

  Kessick and Perak exited his office, both elated. Perak turned to Kessick, who offered Perak his hand. "I guess this is it, Perak. Congratulations on your promotion. Now that your old troops are mine, any recommendations for promotions to replace you? I guess you probably don't know them enough to say. How long do you think before they'll have completely forgotten who you were?"

  "I doubt they'll live long enough to forget me under your inept leadership."

  "At least I'll be able to console myself with the knowledge that you'll be unlikely to outlive them. I'd be surprised if you last a year. And then you'll be completely forgotten, leaving no trace while I continue up the ranks."

  "Oh, there will be more than just a trace, Perak. I think I will go and check on your prisoners. Perhaps there will be a few red heads with a striking resemblance to me within the year."

  "How dare you! They are for Wing Comm—"

  "Exactly. I am a Wing Commander, and, oh yes, your prisoners are registered to my new command. Goodbye, Perak. Hopefully forever."

  Perak could do nothing but seethe silently as Kessick walked away, whistling cheerfully. One day Kessick would die on one of his badly led raids, and as far as Perak was concerned that day couldn't come soon enough.

  Chapter 10: School history lesson

  "So, how was your weekend?" Jenna asked as Crystal sauntered over to her desk. Professor Silver had just left the room after taking registration, and their first lesson hadn't begun yet. It was already the third week of term, and they had settled into their school routine.

  "Good, thanks," Crystal replied cheerfully, sitting down on Jenna's desk. "It's strange though, I was looking forward to coming back. It was such a nice feeling, flying." Their second flying lesson on the last Friday had been a particularly enjoyable one.

  "It was, wasn't it?" Jenna agreed. "I know we haven't been taught to do that much yet, but it was still a lot of fun. Did you practice much over the weekend?"

  "Just transforming," Crystal replied with a sigh. "My mother doesn't want me to practice flying on my own yet, and said she was too busy to look after me."

  "Ah, shame," Jenna replied sympathetically. "I had a few goes with Arthur, but not that many."

  Crystal could tell she was lying. She had probably spent the whole weekend in the air, but Crystal appreciated the fact that Jenna was considering her feelings for a change.

  "So, what do we have now?" Crystal asked. "I couldn't find my timetable this morning."

  "History, I am afraid. It's the boring teacher who spoke at assembly on the first day. I know that doesn't narrow down that much, but he managed to be even more boring than the others. He was ill last week, remember?"

  Crystal groaned. "Why can't it be flying again?"

  "Well, that's one thing you have in common with John," Jenna observed.

  "Don't mention that stupid boy," Crystal replied. "He was annoying me every day last week. He's still asking me stupid questions. But what do you mean? What do I have in common with him?"

  "I don't think he'll be looking forward to this lesson either. He looked really annoyed during that assembly. Not just bored like the rest of us, but angry with what the Professor was saying."

  "What was he saying? The Professor, I mean."

  "I don't know; something about our national duty. I was struggling to stay awake for most of it. He's one of these ones who never refer to the principalities as principalities. He always calls them regions. Professor Silver is the same."

  "So? What does that mean?" Crystal never paid a lot of attention to politics.

  "It means that they're the sort of people that don't like the fact that the Kingdom has been split up. That the King isn't as powerful as he used to be. Father warned me about people like him. They'll favour people from Furnace over everyone else. It's even worse if you're from the Western or Eastern Principalities, as they've always tended to be more independent, but even coming from the South he still might discriminate against us."

  "He wouldn't dare say anything to your prince though, would he?"

  Jenna shrugged. "Just watch. It'll be like Professor Silver. Haven't you noticed? He doesn't even call Arthur 'Prince Arthur', just calls him Arthur. It doesn't bother him but I'd be furious."

  "Hey, shush, he's coming in to the class."

  Crystal ran back to her seat as the Professor entered the room. He walked to his table and sat on it, ignoring the chair. He was a thin, balding man who glared at the class before addressing them, as if challenging them to misbehave. When he did speak, his voice was clear and crisp, and his words had a slightly angry edge to them. He reminded Crystal of Professor Silver.

  "Over the next five lessons, I will be teaching you what we know about our neighbours," Professor Newt began.

  "Surely one lesson would be more than enough," John muttered. Daisy sniggered.

  "What was that, boy?" Professor Newt eye's bore into John, regarding him with contempt.

  "Nothing, sir," John replied.

  "Make sure it is nothing," Professor Newt retorted. "I won't tolerate interruptions. I will be starting by giving you a general overview of the dragon races. As you know, there were seven dragon races, Red, Blue, Green, Rhino, Brown, Sea and Worm Dragons, two of which—the Worm and Brown Dragons—are now wiped out by the Blue Dragons in their never-ending quest for territory."

  John burst out laughing, to the surprise of the rest of the class.

  "Something funny, boy?" Professor Newt snapped.

  John stared at him incredulously. "Was any of that serious, sir?"

  "Of course it was serious. You have never seen a Blue Dragon, but they are merciless, and wiped out two races, and would do the same to us given the chance."

  John ignored his comment about never having seen Blue Dragons and just shook his head. "About there being just seven races. What about the Wasp Dragons, sir? Grass Dragons?"

  "What are you talking about? No such thing."

  "True, sir; as far as our school history books teach us, there are no Wasp Dragons, or Grass Dragons. However, there were, until King Simon I wiped out the Wasp Dragons about fifteen hundred years ago, and King Jerle I wiped out the Grass Dragons, just a little over a hundred years ago."

  "Nonsense," Professor Newt replied dismissively. "Grass Dragons were just another name for Green Dragons. Everyone knows that. Wasp Dragons, again, were just a separate group of Brown Dragons that went to war in black and yellow paint."

  "That's funny, sir, and there I was thinking that Grass Dragons were small, non-flying dragons, and Wasp Dragons were half the size of any Brown Dragon, which, again, I thought were divided into two quite different races. And we haven't even begun to discuss the other surviving races."

  "That's enough! I won't be questioned by you. I don't know where you get these ridiculous ideas from, but I won't have you disrupting my class. You can either stay silent, or get out."

  John visibly fumed, but stayed still.

  "Good. Where was I? Yes, the Blue Dragons, who are the most aggressive…."

  After the lesson, John marched out quickly, still furious with the professor. Daisy ran after him and caught him by his arm, keen to talk to him. "Hey, John, what were you talking about back there? Are there really more than five surviving races?"

  John spun around. "I can't believe that anyone even needs to ask that question. And I can't believe he's allowed to teach that nonsense."

  "Hey, calm down," Daisy said soothingly, trying to calm him. "We'll listen to you. Please tell me."

 
"Why would you want to listen to him?" Jenna asked as she and Arthur caught up. "He'll just get you into trouble with Professor Newt. You'll repeat what he tells you and get shouted at, and then you'll cry."

  "Leave her alone," Arthur said angrily.

  "She's right, Arthur," Crystal said, glaring at John. "Why would anyone believe him over a history professor anyway?"

  "He's not a real history professor," John replied, glaring back at her. "He's a retired general who has been teaching for a couple of years. Five minutes in our military library could show you he's making it all up. Almost nothing he said in there was true."

  "Well, how many races are there?" Arthur asked curiously. "How many are still surviving?"

  "There are nine—"

  "Nine!" Jenna burst out. "That's twice as many as he told us. Do you really expect us to believe that?"

  "Nine groups of races," John replied firmly. "I doubt any group had less than five races originally."

  "Forty-five races!" Crystal laughed. "Do we look like fools?"

  "More like ninety in total," John snapped back at her. "And yes, you do look like a fool. Because it's what you are." John turned and marched away before anyone could stop him.

  "John!" Daisy shouted after him. "Wait!"

  "Leave him," Arthur told her. "You don't want to hang around with him."

  "Whatever John says," Seth said slowly, "I'm sure that our history books don't back that up."

  "Exactly," Jenna retorted. "He's making it up."

  "Hmm, no I don't think so," Seth replied. "John doesn't do that. I doubt he could even tell a convincing lie."

  "So what are you saying?" Crystal asked.

  "I'm not sure, but I can't believe that John knows everything that he knows from just one summer reading in the library."

  "But when I've asked him which book to look in, he's always told me the right one, and it confirms what he said," Daisy objected. "He really knows the books very well."

  "How many times have you done that?" Crystal asked.